You Sir, are a Conceited Ass
Yesterday things got a little bit heated between my friend Dee and her boyfriend whom we shall call Saul.
Dee was objecting to Saul's character and Saul was lashing out, and during that proces turned some of his rage on me. Went:
*And she wants to shag me!*
I went: *Eh?* because it did not compute. He might as well said *And she has three heads and green teeth!*. Then I burst out laughing. Which probably did not do a whole lot for Saul's ego but gave my harassed nervous system a nice break.
I was a little bit amused, and mostly indignant, although that was nowhere near the scale of my friend's reaction. She began with a withering: *If this was not so pathetic, it would be funny* and then became a bright burning little ball of outrage and launched into a tirade. She proceeded to list all the reasons why I was wonderful, why she does not for a nanosecond doubt me and why he is a warped moron.
My mate is not the most exciting or witty person I've known, but we've been friends for fifteen years and she is so loyal and so steadfast it warms the heart. One of the few people I am not afraid will stop loving me, or leave me. One of the few people also who have earned my trust and respect.
And it feels good to be trusted also. She never doubted me, didn't hesitate a moment to stand up for me and I was very moved.
Saul had apparently reached his conclusion that I was hitting on him because he thought I was smiling at him too much and last week there was something funny in the way I held his hand.
Oh for the flipping love of all fucking absurdities!
e were in a bar, and everyone at the table grabbed hands, the only reason why I was holding his in the first place was because he was next to me.
Is it a male thing I wonder (or simply a subsyndrome of Homo Balcanicus), to see a come on in a smile and a handhold? Because really, for that to happen, he must have a core belief that everyone fancies him.
The mind boggles. Although I should probably be thankful that he hasn't started to imagine I am in love with him.
*****
On a different note I look like a junkie. I've had blood drawn from me so many times over the last few days that both my arms are full of needle marks and harassed looking injection sites.
Now a tracksuit is the only thing I lack in order to look like I belong on the streets of Liverpool.
*****
And on a final note it is my Angel Day (at least that's what the Russians call it). Today is the day of St. Nina and St. Sava in the Orthodox calenders.
St. Sava is the patron Saint of Serbs (the bells of the St. Sava temple have been ringing like crazy) and St. Nina isn't really celebrated here but I wholeheartedly approve of any tradition which compells people to be nice to me and give me money.
Traditionally all the Russian and Serb children are named for a Saint who is meant to look after them and be their guardian and guide. (This is different to a Serb Slava in which the guardian saint/angel of the family is celebrated, and we eat the sweet rye)
It's like a little birthday, there's usually a cake and everyone gets to eat and be merry and I get to feel special.
Dee was objecting to Saul's character and Saul was lashing out, and during that proces turned some of his rage on me. Went:
*And she wants to shag me!*
I went: *Eh?* because it did not compute. He might as well said *And she has three heads and green teeth!*. Then I burst out laughing. Which probably did not do a whole lot for Saul's ego but gave my harassed nervous system a nice break.
I was a little bit amused, and mostly indignant, although that was nowhere near the scale of my friend's reaction. She began with a withering: *If this was not so pathetic, it would be funny* and then became a bright burning little ball of outrage and launched into a tirade. She proceeded to list all the reasons why I was wonderful, why she does not for a nanosecond doubt me and why he is a warped moron.
My mate is not the most exciting or witty person I've known, but we've been friends for fifteen years and she is so loyal and so steadfast it warms the heart. One of the few people I am not afraid will stop loving me, or leave me. One of the few people also who have earned my trust and respect.
And it feels good to be trusted also. She never doubted me, didn't hesitate a moment to stand up for me and I was very moved.
Saul had apparently reached his conclusion that I was hitting on him because he thought I was smiling at him too much and last week there was something funny in the way I held his hand.
Oh for the flipping love of all fucking absurdities!
e were in a bar, and everyone at the table grabbed hands, the only reason why I was holding his in the first place was because he was next to me.
Is it a male thing I wonder (or simply a subsyndrome of Homo Balcanicus), to see a come on in a smile and a handhold? Because really, for that to happen, he must have a core belief that everyone fancies him.
The mind boggles. Although I should probably be thankful that he hasn't started to imagine I am in love with him.
*****
On a different note I look like a junkie. I've had blood drawn from me so many times over the last few days that both my arms are full of needle marks and harassed looking injection sites.
Now a tracksuit is the only thing I lack in order to look like I belong on the streets of Liverpool.
*****
And on a final note it is my Angel Day (at least that's what the Russians call it). Today is the day of St. Nina and St. Sava in the Orthodox calenders.
St. Sava is the patron Saint of Serbs (the bells of the St. Sava temple have been ringing like crazy) and St. Nina isn't really celebrated here but I wholeheartedly approve of any tradition which compells people to be nice to me and give me money.
Traditionally all the Russian and Serb children are named for a Saint who is meant to look after them and be their guardian and guide. (This is different to a Serb Slava in which the guardian saint/angel of the family is celebrated, and we eat the sweet rye)
It's like a little birthday, there's usually a cake and everyone gets to eat and be merry and I get to feel special.